Shift, Enter
by Jaclyn
Summary: Instead of a summary, how about a nice keyboard metaphor? This story contains a shift both subtle and overt, an ent(e)r[ance], and probably a bit of alt-ness beginning somewhere in earlyish season four. Wesley & Lilah. And Angel.


  
**Shift--Enter**  
by Jaclyn // musicnotej@aol.com  
09.20.03  
  
Disclaimer: Whedon's, not mine.  
A/N: For the reviewers who asked that I "make it happy": this is a start.  
  
___  
  
  
One day, Angel bursts in and Wesley and Lilah are watching television.   
  
  
They are almost cuddled. Wesley had had a long day and a gaping wound in his side, and Lilah had made some crack about death and blood and the way it looked on him; but she didn't leave.   
  
_I'll be extremely pissed off if you die of pride_, she tells him. _Why won't you go to a hospital? I'm not done with you yet.   
  
And do what? Say I got mauled by a tiger in LA?   
  
Tell 'em your girlfriend has a really talented manicurist._ Lilah growls playfully and rakes her nails down his shirted chest. He gives her a thoughtful look, then with his good arm sends her tumbling down beside him.   
  
_There_, he says. _Now if I die you can only blame yourself.   
  
I won't be negligent_, she purrs, breath puffing lightly on the shell of his ear. But she is smart enough to know it has to stop there. Wesley's in no position for their rough play, regardless of the way he's looking at her right now.   
  
_Down, boy_, Lilah grins. _You'll heal soon enough. If you want, I could get somone to speed it up--   
  
No._   
  
And Lilah curses herself for saying something stupid like that, for bruising yet again this fragile bond that they've been developing -- when they can forget about the outside world and it all it entails for them, that is. Then she curses herself again for even thinking for a _moment_ that she should have censored her behavior for a man. But she doesn't like the way it feels when his face closes off like that. She just doesn't.   
  
_Jerk_, she mutters.   
  
Wesley sighs and, for once, admits he could have been a little kinder. _Sorry. I know you were just trying to help. It's just that...   
  
...yeah?   
  
It's just that every time you suggest something like that I fear you're trying to recruit me. Or enchant me. Or kill me.   
  
Enchant you -- like make you my love slave?   
  
I can't separate you from the lawyer, Lilah. I don't know if I should try. Is there a difference?_   
  
She can't look at him. Quotes mockingly (for she's too scared to say it any other way), _And every time you ask something like that I fear you're trying to kill me. Why do you want to know? I thought you were separate from Angel & the Good and Plenties, but the fact that you don't_ want _to be probably counts more, doesn't it?_   
  
_So you think I'm scouting for weaknesses?   
  
You think the same thing in reverse_, Lilah retorts, then half-smiles. _We have serious issues, Wes._   
  
Wesley lays his head on the back of the couch. _Well, we appear to be at an impasse_, he says, continuing reasonably, _not that this would surprise anyone. Problem is, neither one of us can really know for sure that cultivating trust won't lead to painful death. So--_   
  
She is surprised, a little giddy, though she doesn't let it show. Sceptically, she asks, _You want to trust me?   
  
Better than falling asleep wondering if I'm going to wake up to you with a knife and me with a slit throat. Again._   
  
She fingers his scar. _I didn't know you were that nervous when I don't leave_. She doesn't ask why he didn't tell her earlier. They're both smart people. It would have been stupid. Had she been planning it, it would have been a death wish.   
  
_I get it now!_ Lilah explains. _It's because you're British!   
  
Of course. How relevant_, Wesley remarks dryly.   
  
_No, no. See, in the grand ol' USA, people don't care about trust; they care about getting off. But in Europe, they're still all honorable and crap..._   
  
Lilah's hit the nail on the head, but Wesley isn't going to tell her that. It feels wrong to him, sleeping with her for so long yet still considering her the enemy. It feels barbarian. And truth be told, he kind of likes her. She's sharp and clever and feline. She's the kind of girl he's always wanted but never thought he could have.   
  
_You know_, Wesley says after a pause, _they say trust takes time. Perhaps we should just sit here, take in a movie, talk a little...act like regular people. Not try to push it._   
  
She gazes in the direction of the kitchen. _Have any popcorn, odd British Man?_   
  
_Microwaveable kind should be in the pantry._   
  
_I'll make us some_, Lilah says agreeably. When she returns, Wesley puts his arm around her, she puts her head on his shoulder, and neither of them comment. They feed each other with buttery fingers, and it's not about sex. Wesley smiles and Lilah _giggles_ and it's almost as if they haven't hated or hurt or nearly killed each other in the past.   
  
Their movements were tentative in the beginning, but due to years of experience in their line of work, Wesley and Lilah both adapt quickly to curveballs.   
  
  
Then Angel bursts in.   
  
Curveball experience comes in handy yet again, for Wesley speaks calmly after only the briefest of pauses. "Can I help you with something?"   
  
Angel is staring at the little _Showtime_ icon in the corner of the screen. "You two are-- you're watching a MOVIE? I thought all you did was--"   
  
"Fuck?" Lilah offers silkily from her lover's shoulder.   
  
Angel shifts. "Uh, yeah."   
  
"We're versatile people," Wesley tells him, then turns back to the screen with a handful of popcorn in blatant disregard for the creature who, last time they met, tried to kill him.   
  
Lilah, understandably, is leerier. "What are you doing here, anyway? And what's with the action hero entrance?" She frowns at the unhinged door lying at Angel's feet. "You're paying for that, not Wesley."   
  
"Wow, Wes," Angel addresses the man who won't be bothered to look at him, "You've really got it made. Beautiful woman who fucks you AND stands up for you while you veg in front of the TV."   
  
"You know nothing about us, Angel," Wesley answers mildly. "I don't know what you're doing here and I don't care. Get out of my home. Now."   
  
"Well, I care," says Lilah.   
  
"I heard screaming. And it didn't sound like the, y'know, happy kind."   
  
"And you were spying on us because...?" Lilah huffs, more than a little creeped out.   
  
But Wesley is laughing. "Two-fifty years as the most brutal vampire in history and you can't tell real human screaming from TELEVISION?"   
  
"Digital technology is really advancing by leaps and bounds," Angel replies uncomfortably. "And I wasn't spying. I came to...borrow a book."   
  
"You did not," Lilah replies hotly, wishing she were sitting on the other side of Wesley. There's nothing between her and the vampire but a few feet of air.   
  
Angel's eyes narrow. Bitterly, he admits, "Fine. I was curious. About how you two can _possibly_--"   
  
"What? Survive without you? Doing just fine, thanks for your concern, and I'd appreciate it if you would cease with the habitual lurking. It reeks of Angelus."   
  
"And you reek of Lilah! Do I have to remind you that she's the ENEMY?"   
  
"Define 'enemy,' Angel. How about...one who wants you dead. Perhaps...one who attempts to smother you with a pillow while you're too weak from the drugs and the pain to fight back?"   
  
"I like that definition," Lilah mutters under her breath.   
  
"Not," Wesley continues, "one who makes you popcorn after you've been clawed by a Ringlar demon."   
  
With a self-satisfied smirk, Lilah catches Angel's eyes. "I think what he's trying to say is--"   
  
"I know what he's trying to say," Angel's voice is dangerous, but she knows he won't hurt her -- at least not while Wesley's arm is around her shoulders. For the moment, she's untouchable. It's a relief. And it will help her deal with Angel in the future without being so damn scared. For that intangible weapon, Lilah is grateful.   
  
Angel yanks something from the pocket of his flashy little leather jacket and hurls it at their feet. A wad of cash. "Here. Buy yourself a brand new door. Or some sex toys. Whatever."   
  
"Thank you!" Lilah calls after him.   
  
"Sorry I bothered, _Wesley!_" Angel shouts back from the hallway.   
  
"Quite alright!"   
  
"You're going to wake the old lady next door," Lilah reminds him, amused. "The really cranky one, what's her face...Mrs. Weatherby. Hell, is she British too? Almost beats 'Wyndham-Pryce' in the stuffiness category."   
  
"Bring it on," Wesley says in an exaggerated American accent.   
  
"Speaking of which, it's been a few hours...more painkillers?"   
  
"I think you're actually enjoying playing nursemaid, Lilah."   
  
"You're cute when you're helpless." Wesley recognizes her expression from the infamous dollar bill incident. It's that rare, cuddly one.   
  
"'M not helpless. Got rid of Angel pretty damn quickly, didn't I?"   
  
"Speaking of...why didn't you de-invite him?"   
  
Shrug. "Just to spite him."   
  
"He could kill you, Wes," she says seriously.   
  
"He won't. He's not raging anymore; he wouldn't kill a human."   
  
Wham -- realization. She sits straight up, twists so that she's facing him. "He'd kill me."   
  
Wesley mutes the television and answers ponderously. "Maybe. I'm not sure."   
  
"And now that he knows that his invitation still stands AND that I'm here more often than he thought..."   
  
Wesley snorts. "I'd probably be doing the world at large a favor if I let him kill you." Lilah flinches. "But," he continues slowly, "I daresay I'd miss you."   
  
Tight smile. "De-inviting spell. First thing tomorrow."   
  
"Yes, ma'am." He hesitates. "You were offering painkillers?"   
  
  
END   
  
  
  
Too quirky? Too optomistic? What do you think? Definitely not canon...   
  



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